


When I Fall Apart, Will You Still Hold Me?

by simple_nothings



Category: Marvel, Wolverine (Movies), Wolverine and the X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Charles Xavier has a Daughter, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Logan Doesn't Die, Old Man Logan (kinda), Road Trips, Slow Burn, The Smut starts in Chapter 5, Who Am I Kidding?, but the angst makes for the slow burn, confused!oc, evil!writer, guilty!logan, smut but they are so dumb about feelings its painful
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:34:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24070666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simple_nothings/pseuds/simple_nothings
Summary: After taking the children to Eden--which turns out to be a secret town built by the Canadian government to be a mutant haven--Logan is asked to take on a mission. Having discovered letters meant to reach Charles Xavier, the leaders of Eden want Logan to go and collect a mutant before Transigen can. Who Logan finds is far from who he expects, and he isn't quite sure if he's happy about that.
Relationships: Logan (X-Men)/Original Female Character
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	1. The road still traveled

**Author's Note:**

> this plot was weighing on me. i had to put it down somewhere.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan meets a mutant, and he is a bit surprised.

He isn’t exactly excited about this. But, it meant getting out of that _shitty_ little town they made which the children _all_ seem to love for some _inconceivable_ reason but Logan can’t stand it because it's _small_ and _happy_ and _good_ and _safe_ and none of those things match up with _any_ programs previously created by governments for mutants and he can’t stay there and eat _decent_ food and sleep in a _decent_ bed without feeling like it’s _wrong_.

So, when the higher-ups (who are surprisingly mutants and not humans trying to control them) call him in and give him a job that requires leaving Eden, he takes it immediately. Because, like said before, he can’t stay there any longer or he’ll start checking under his bed for fucking bombs, and their mission for him is like a godsend.

But once he’s on the road, he’s not so sure. It’s not the fact that he’s getting old because, since killing his clone, his hair has been growing in brown again and his healing factor is better than it’s been in literal decades and he hasn’t had a coughing fit once, and it’s starting to remind him of his last trip to Japan. Because when Laura shot his clone and Logan impaled him with his claws, it felt a lot like what he imagined it would have been like to be on the receiving end of that machine Yashida was in.

So it’s not his health, because, in all honesty, his health is perfect, but it might have something to do with Laura. Because she’s young and she’s innocent and in spite of all she has been put through, she’s still a child and, more specifically, _his_ child. Maybe not in the most conventional sense of the word, but she has his DNA and his abilities and that is good enough for him. That makes it hard for him to just up and leave, unsure when he’s coming back or if he’s coming back or how pissed she really is at him for leaving in the first place. Yeah, she gave him a hug and told him not to die, but then she turned around and walked away as fast as she could. And that scares Logan more than he wants to admit because what if she turned away because she started crying? The people in Eden are a lot like those at Charles’ school; they care and they’re far more qualified and capable of giving Laura what she deserves than he is, but what if she feels like he’s abandoning her?

Because he isn’t abandoning her. He just needs to get away because he’s used to moving around and sleeping in his limo or on a disgusting cot with an empty bottle of Jack Daniels beside him and he just can’t seem to get a handle on living so _domestic_ . Because he hasn’t lived like that for too many years and he barely even remembers it the first go around and _that_ didn’t turn out great, either.

So he’ll come back soon enough. He just has to find this mutant that may or may not still be alive. He doesn’t know what she looks like, but he’s got a name and an address from who-knows-how-long before. But he’ll try his best to find her and bring her back to Eden, and then he’ll spend time with Laura, watching a movie or eating something way too fucking sweet or training--and thank God Laura likes to fight and train because that’s about all Logan is really good at doing other than sitting at a bar or one-night-stands (and she sure as fucking hell not teaching her how to do those things).

When he finally gets down to Mississippi, just before Louisiana, he’s content. He’s spent the last six day driving and making stops at bars when he can barely keep his eyes open and it's been comforting and now he’s itching to get back to that shitty little town again and just be all that he can for Laura. Because, yeah, he’s had fun doing what he had been doing for years but it was also late January and the snow was already falling frequently enough and, the longer he spent looking for this girl, the longer it would take to try and get back to Eden.

So he’s a little more than slightly upset when he gets to the small town on the letter’s return label and finds out that the exact address he’s looking for got destroyed in a tornado almost 30 years before. 

And he wishes that’s the end of it so he can just go back to Eden knowing he tried, but it isn’t.

No, because people down the road from where that house used to be _remember_ the previous owners. _A mother and a daughter_ , they say. _Hadn’t even been there 7 years. And then a tornado ripped on right through their property and the mother didn’t survive._ They hand him a postcard and a picture of the girl--a bright and cheery thing with dirty blonde hair and big blue eyes and-

Fuck.

 _Fuck_.

Because now he has this picture and a lead and he can’t just go back to Eden without seeing these bright blue eyes in the back of his head, telling him his job was far from over. So he takes the picture that’s just her face--just her face and her wide smile and her terribly gleeful eyes and her flushed cheeks and her messy hair that glows around the edges from how the sunlight hit her just right for the photo and--no, fuck, this isn’t going to happen. He isn’t going to be attracted to this woman that he doesn’t know because that sounds like a fucking disaster and he’s tempted to burn the photo and the post card and just say fuck it and head back to Eden where he doesn’t have to worry about anything, including the safety of this one stupid mutant.

But then he thinks of fucking Charles and how Charles was supposed to find this girl and Charles would have searched high and low for this girl because it’s the right thing to do. So he drives the truck he was given by the Canadians all the way down to Nuevo Leon beyond the Texan border where the postcard is from because he has to. Because Charles is still in his head, acting as his fucking conscience and he can’t make himself turn back.

And when he finds her, it’s in a university, tucked away in a library surrounded by books--and he’s shocked because she looks exactly the same as she does in the picture which is supposed to be about thirty years old, yet she looks like she’s not a day over 23 at most. And she looks up at him with the bluest eyes he has _ever_ encountered.

“Abigail Taylor?”

And then she’s running and he really doesn’t want to chase her, but there aren’t many other options. Agitation eats away at his throat because he’s trying to make her understand that he has no intentions of hurting her--and he’s still reeling at the fact that he’s booking it after and hasn’t felt the urge to cough once--and then she’s cornered and scared and the air is full of gut-wrenching sentences like _please don’t hurt me_ and _I’ve done nothing wrong_.

As Logan finally gets her to calm down, he notices what he didn’t have time to before. She’s short and she’s missing a large part of her right arm--it in’t an amputation, it’s something she was born with; because she has a small elbow that points backwards and two fingers attached to a palm and it’s imperfect and human and wholly natural because people are too particular and narrow minded to create for someone an arm like that. There are surgical scars on her other hand and Logan is beginning to wonder who was experimented on by humans: this girl or her mother?

Logan tells her that there is a lot to explain and she’s shaking but she still stands and leads him back to her apartment which is littered with books on everything he could think of. He doesn’t know what her abilities are, but looking at the stacks of books in too many different languages, with titles like The _Fundamental Laws of Molecular Biology_ and _Kinematics and Dynamics of Machinery_ , he’s almost sure it involves her being a brainiac.

She serves them both plates of dried meat-- _machaca_ , she called it-- and eggs and he compliments her cooking and she brushes it off saying _it’s a staple meal in Monterrey_ and then she states that she’s a professor at the university and goes quiet. 

_She doesn’t look like a professor_ is the only thing Logan manages to think, taking in her tanned shoulders and the halter top she’s wearing with jean shorts and it’s like she can hear his thoughts because, not even a minute later, she glances at him and mentions it's her day off.

“And _no_ , I can’t read minds,” she smiles a little as she takes a bite of her meat, noticing Logan’s eyes narrow just a little bit further.

“Are you sure?” he asks, his eyebrow twitching up _just_ a hint.

“Yes.”

She’s comfortable with him already and he’s not too disturbed by her presence, either--which irks him tremendously because this is exactly the _fucking issue_ he didn’t want to encounter. Instead of facing his annoying tendency to be far too trusting and comfortable with women, Logan gets right down to business, starting with the letters sent from her mother.

“I should have known she’d do something like that,” she sighs and it takes everything inside of him not to stare at her pink bottom-lip that’s jutted out _just_ enough to be slightly tortuous. “My mother had dedicated years to preparing me to survive being a mutant, but she never thought it was enough. She was getting old and she didn’t think she would be around much longer; I’m not surprised she secretly sent a letter to someone, begging them to take care of me.”

“Hm,” he looks at the girl in front of him and he can’t help but wonder exactly _how_ old is she? “Your mother sent several letters, actually. Probably not sure where one would find Charles.”

This got her attention and Abigail’s eyes shot immediately to Logan's, wide and shocked and _so blue_.

“Charles? She sent the letters to a man named _Charles_?”

He frowns slightly and nods, “Charles Xavier, he ran a school of sorts for mutants.”

She laughs in disbelief more than joy, covering her mouth with her hand and he can see tears shining in her eyes.

“And let me guess; he could speak into people’s minds?” It’s more of a statement than a question and she shakes her head with another quiet laugh before leaning forward. “I can’t believe this. You have to know, for the last twenty years of my mother’s life, I thought she was losing it and that she had fucking _dementia_ or something else I wasn’t sure she could get! Every once and awhile, she would tell me that _Charles_ told her something--about mutant regulations being passed or to not eat things with _fucking corn syrup_ because of some mutant-hating scientist! She’d say things about how he wasn’t allowed to know her thoughts anymore--how he lost that privilege.”

“How well did your mother know him?” he asks with a curiosity he didn’t know he’s still capable of--a question she scoffs at openly.

“I never met him and I don’t know how well they knew each other, but… I can tell you that she was most definitely convinced my father was a man named Charles.”

And suddenly, he can see it--the resemblance is right there in her blue eyes and the curve of her jaw and, when she tucks a lock of dirty blonde hair that shines almost strawberry blonde in the lighting behind her ear, he realizes her hair might be a different color, the same wave makes it wildly disheveled. And suddenly, there is no denying that the girl in front of him is most definitely the daughter of Charles Xavier.

Fuck.

 _Fuck_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is just the start, but its almost 5 am and I really need to sleep


	2. And sleep evades your desperate grasp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They hit the road, jack.

This isn’t what he signed up for, but if anything, this turn of events only makes his mission more important. Before, she was just another mutant that should be protected from scrutiny and hate--but _now_ , now she’s not only that, she’s also the daughter of a _friend_ , a _mentor_ . And that fact makes her attractiveness just a little more painful to notice. Because, for fuck’s sakes--this is Charles Xavier’s daughter! If an afterlife exists, Logan just knows that Charles is glaring down at him with a stare that _screams_ , don’t you _dare_ to even _look_ at her the wrong way.

That isn’t even the half of it, because she’s _stubborn_ and she says something along the lines of _like hell am I just up and leaving to come with you_ \--and he has to lie to himself and say it is _not_ cute when she stands there with her shoulders back and fixes him with an indignant stare--because she’s got a lecture on monday and her students need her.

(Now that he acknowledges the fact again, of _course_ she’s a fucking _professor_ because what else would she be?)

It takes him standing up and raising an eyebrow at her, reminding her that they found _two_ letters sent from her mother and who _knows_ how fucking many she sent. _And if it took me about a week to find you, how long do you think it will take for the wrong people to find you as well?_

Then she just stands there, staring off at the wall with a conflicted look on her face and he has to glance away because he can’t handle watching her unconsciously jut her lip out like that. She sighs and looks up to him--she has to crane her neck just to make eye contact and he realizes she must be really fucking short, because he may be 6’2, but he’s definitely got her dwarfed by more than a foot. 

She says she’ll go pack her things, and like that, he’s shocked because one second it’s unstoppable force meets immovable object, and the next, he’s sitting back down at her kitchen table as she goes back to what he assumes is her room and starts packing clothes, enquiring about where exactly they’re going and whether she should bother packing her down coat.

Next thing he knows, she’s back in the kitchen with a backpack and a duffel, big round sunglasses balanced on top of her head--the kind Audrey Hepburn would wear, which is a reference Logan didn’t know he knew--and she’s asking if they’re flying or driving or taking a train or a super secret submarine.

(He knows she’s making fun of him with the last one, but he can’t even be annoyed because she changed into a flowing sundress and she looks like a movie star and he’s more annoyed with himself and how sappy he’s acting.)

“You pack light.” He knows its a stupid comment to make because he literally just told her that evil people could come after her any day now, but he wants to lighten the mood because he already doesn’t like the worried look she has.

“I was raised by a very old, very paranoid mutant,” she flashed him a gorgeous smile, the early evening sunlight reflecting in her eyes beautifully. “Of course I pack light.”

He won’t admit it, but he would make any stupid comment necessary if it meant seeing that smile again.

(He also won’t admit that his stomach did a little flip-flop at the sight of it.)

So, yeah, there’s definitely some chemistry going on between them, but he’s not going to act on it because she’s not just some girl in a bar or even just another mutant because she’s the daughter of one of his only friends. Not to mention the fact that he’s taking her back to Eden and then he’ll keep seeing her all the time because now he has Laura and he can’t just run away for long periods of time.

But, even though he keeps saying it's none of his business-- _she’s_ none of his business--he’s still too curious and he asks about her mom, because she said she was _old_ and _he’s_ wondering what _she_ means by old.

“I’m not sure exactly what year she was born in, but she was around 240 when she died.”

“Geez, kid,” he grumbles out without even thinking as they’re finally driving out to the mean roads heading for the border. “How old does that make you?”

“Old enough that you probably shouldn’t be calling me kid,” she glances at him, eyeing his lack of gray hair or tell-tale wrinkles. “I’ll be 61 in about a month.”

“61,” he shakes his head with a smirk “You wear the years well, kid.”

“Thanks,” she laughs pleasantly--probably too pleasantly, but he doesn’t want to think about that. “Maybe I should be calling _you_ kid.”

Logan grins over at where she’s got her knee propped up on the seat. Fuck, she really does wear those years well. With the tilt of her shoulders and the way she rests her head back against the seat, she looks like a free-spirited teen who’s ready to take the world by the tail--but add the 60 years of experience to back up her confident grin and she’s not an ignorant little girl, she’s a warrior of knowledge and power that no one would expect of her.

“No, I still get to call you kid.”

“Oh yeah?” she scoffs, more playful than disbelieving. “How many years you got on me, old man?”

“Can’t give you exact numbers, but I’ve been in a lot of wars,” he shrugs.

“What was your first one? Let me guess...World War II?”

“Try the _civil_ one.”

“Fuck,” she breaths out as she watches him, like its the first time she’s really looking. “Yeah, I guess you can still call me kid. The Civil War… all that time--you must get what it’s like to have to up and leave the lives you build for yourself, then.”

He can hear the solemn string in her voice, revealing just how difficult it really is for her to just leave behind Nuevo Leon. She lived there for what, 30 years? It's not easy letting all of that go, even when you have good reasons to.

“Leaving a lot of friends behind here?” He tries to make it sound casual, to not push her or make her feel like he’s the bad guy, ripping her away from all her loved ones. 

“No,” she huffs, a lazy shake of her head. “No, I know better to get too attached. When I was younger, my mother and I never stayed in one town longer than 5, maybe 6 years. Staying any longer would just make it harder to leave. When she died, I think I just stopped seeing the point, you know? So I moved down here, got a basic job, and then I just didn’t leave. I know better than to make friends that I’ll eventually have to abandon, but I do have students. And that works for me because, as a professor, I only interact with them for a few years and then they’re gone. No need to get excessively attached.”

Logan just nods to that because he understands and there aren’t really any good responses that can follow. And they stay silent, listening to the radio and staring out the windshield in camaraderie because that’s the life you have to live when you could be filing for retirement but you still look like you’re in your twenties. They’re quiet all the rest of the drive until it's completely dark out and they realize how tired they both are, physically and emotionally, as they stop for gas in Freer, Texas. 

So they get a crappy motel room with two beds and a shitty tv and she glances at him for a second when he tells her it’s a lot safer if they share a room. Then she nods and heads straight in, saying she calls the bathroom first and he can already hear the shower turning off by the time he gets back from the little diner across the street with burgers for the both of them.

While they sit on opposite beds, silently eating their greasy burgers with some game show on the tv, he’s just glad she called the bathroom first. Because she’s wearing this oversized t-shirt that comes halfway down her thighs and he can barely see the tiny pair of shorts she’s wearing. Because she’s eating her burger like a _normal_ human being, but then she’s putting her fingers in her mouth to get rid of the barbeque sauce on them and _suddenly_ , he needs a cold shower.

She’s just _too_ pretty and _too_ unassuming and too _everything_ and he’s starting to wonder if maybe she knows how much of a _tease_ she is. But the way she wipes her hands on the napkins before piling them into the to-go container and throwing it away, sending him a warm closed-lip smile before slipping under her covers, he’s certain she has no idea what effect her actions have on him.

So he takes a long, _long_ cold shower and he focuses on his breathing and he has an inner argument with himself because _come on, you’re not a fucking teenager_ , and this one girl _shouldn’t_ have such a drastic affect on him.

But even after he’s in his own bed and he knows she’s been asleep for a while now, all he can hear is her breathing and its _fucking_ _suffocating_ and _absolutely_ _infuriating-_

-and he’s starting to realize he isn’t going to get great sleep until they get to Eden because at least _then_ , she won’t be sleeping in the same room as him.

 _Fuck_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm liking this. Idk how long this will be, but I'm thinking at least 5 or 6 installments.


	3. Invisible fingers of warmth in your chest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's hard talking about Charles. Also, Logan and Abigail venture into uncharted territory in their relationship.

He thinks sleeping in the same room as her is torture, but it doesn’t compare to waking up in the same room. As he just discovered, Abigail’s not an early riser--and most of the time, he isn’t either.

(But now he has a beautiful mutant sleeping about 5 feet away from him and he’s embarrassingly over-aware of that fact, making it nearly impossible to stay asleep longer that absolutely necessary.)

So he’s awake and already repacking his bag when she begins to stir. She rolls from on her side to her stomach and her blankets have slipped down to only cover her legs--and when she hitches one leg up beside her, it takes everything in him not to stare at the tiny pair of shorts she’s wearing. And with a little mewl of protest as she’s finally pulled away from her sleep, she rolls back over and slowly sits up.

Her hair is a wavy mess, like she’s a flower and her hair is the petals, brushing her shoulders as she wipes her eye and yawns hard into her palm. With slow blinks, she looks around the room until she encounters Logan. He can barely handle it because she gives him a wide closed-lip smile and her eyes are puffy from sleep, meaning they’re hardly visible as they squint at him with the smile. She raises her shoulders and stretches out her long arm beside her, arching her back until he can hear a few cracks. 

“Morning,” she breathes, barely above a whisper and he hates that there’s a fluttery feeling in his chest, spreading out like when a warm shower hits the back of your head and sends trickles of delicious heat down your spine--because he’s Wolverine and fucking over two hundred years old and he _not_ a 12 year old school girl and her voice should _not_ make him feel like one.

“Mornin’,” he replies coolly--like the butterflies in his chest aren’t bothering him at all. “Once you’re ready, we’ll head over and get a quick breakfast before hitting the road again.”

“Oh, thank god,” she moans, standing with a stretch. “I was really hoping to get coffee before we left.”

With that, she goes straight to the bathroom with her duffel. Not even 10 minutes later, she’s dressed in a slim pair of dark jeans and a flannel, groomed and ready to go. Logan admires her time efficiency, glad to be travelling with someone who understands their urgency in travel. It is yet another reminder that she isn’t some naive little girl, but she’s mature and considerate and a million other commendable qualities that he feels obligated to ignore--even if he can’t. 

They’re out the door and loading their bags in the truck in no time, opting to just walk across the street to the diner instead of wasting gas. Across the road from them is a woman pushing a stroller, a toddler holding onto her hand as they follow the sidewalk. The two mutants observe quietly while waiting for a break in traffic in order to cross. As the mother stops to console her crying infant in the stroller, the toddler spots a seemingly interesting leaf out on the road.

Logan can see what’s about to happen and is ready to run across and stop a fast approaching car when a sudden gust of wind sends the leaf straight to the sidewalk, landing on the little boy’s feet. Noticing her son standing at the edge of the curb, the mother scoops him up quickly, the leaf firm in his grasp as she walks guides them further down the sidewalk.

Logan’s muscles loosen as he glances beside him, raising an eyebrow at his traveling companion who discreetly lowers her arm, offering him a tight smile. Once inside, he comments on her _wind powers_ , asking if her mom had the same ability.

“Well, yes,” she hesitated. “But they aren’t exactly wind powers. It’s more like… molecular manipulation. For my mom, her powers were always easy to use and control-- _me_ , on the other hand--I’ve always had a rougher go with all of it. She could cause a gust of wind like it was nothing, but I had to understand the science behind it--understand exactly what I was doing and why it resulted in something else. Wind is just air in an area of high pressure flooding an area of low pressure, usually a result of temperature changes.”

“So wind powers,” he summed up with a smirk.

“Yes,” she laughed with a shy nod, tucking her hair behind her ear with a smile playing on her lips--it was a sight he unintentionally stored away in his mind for safekeeping. “But it’s more than that.”

She scoots forward in the booth, grabbing a fork with an excited glimmer in her eyes--she already described her mother as a paranoid mutant and he didn’t have to think long and hard in order to realize she probably didn’t get to talk about her abilities with others much. And he can’t deny the fact that he genuinely _wants_ to hear her excitement and wonder. 

Charles was a man who loved mutants and _every_ power or ability he encountered--she deserves more than to hide herself away from others, ignoring what she can do. Charles would have wanted that for his own flesh and blood--and _Logan_ honestly wants that for her just because she’s _beautiful_ and _kind_ and _everything_ else wonderful in the universe.

“My powers mean that I can manipulate the molecules in this utensil, increasing or decreasing its density--or even manipulate its shape,” she explains as the fork in her palm slowly bends flat. “Or I can manipulate the molecules that make up my person, increasing the density of my bones so that I can jump from 20 feet up without breaking my ankle.”

“Or throw a killer punch,” he jokes.

“Or throw a killer punch,” she grins. “I’ve devoted the last 40 years to studying molecular physics and biology--even chemistry some, but that’s still a bit much for me--learning how to manipulate the momentum of objects or control aspects of the weather. When necessary, I can speed up healing processes, fuse bones back together, though it’s difficult and draining.”

“And apparently your powers slow down your aging process.”

“Yeah, my mom was old when she died--and she would have lived a lot longer, too…”

“If not for that tornado,” he echoes what her old neighbors told him.

“Yeah,” she smiles sadly, finishing up her breakfast. “It came out of nowhere and the alarms didn’t go off until it was too late for us to get out. I was only 29 at the time, and my powers weren’t cultivated well. In her old age, my mom had great control over her powers still, but they drained her terribly. She managed to keep the house intacted long enough to get me down to the basement, but the roof caved in before she could even get down the stairs.”

“I’m sorry.” He’s being honest. He knows what it’s like to spend forever alone and it’s like a knife to the gut to see that pain in her, a mutant that never had Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters to fill that hole left by lost family.

As they finally hit the road again, she starts asking questions about Charles. It’s understandable that she would wish to know more about her biological father, but Logan struggles to tell her. What was he like? What did he do? Is he still alive? He answers all her questions accordingly, becoming increasingly curt and distant as they continue. Once they get to the question of how did he die, she notices how hard it all is on Logan.

“I’m sorry,” she watches the road, occasionally glancing at his tight grip on the steering wheel. “I was so caught up in my own curiosity, I didn’t even bother to pick up on how hard this must be for you.”

“It’s not your fault; you’re not a psychic.”

“But I kinda am,” she sighed, like she's embarrassed and ashamed of herself. “I’m a bit of an empath. I don’t just know people’s emotions, but if I focus hard enough, I can get a vague read on how they feel. I should have been more conscientious; I’m sorry.”

“Why didn’t you mention that earlier?” he glances at her, finally noticing her posture. She’s slouched, looking out the window and tapping her leg instead of meeting his eyes--and he realizes she’s self-conscious of her powers, ashamed of how little control she feels.

“I’m not that strong. I can only identify basic emotions--sadness, anger, joy. It’s never been the most useful ability.”

“You know, Charles never believed different abilities to be of more or less value than others--regardless of how useful you feel they are.”

“And what do you believe?”

“I tended to agree with him on that one,” he smiles over at her, bringing a grin to her face.

“And what do you do, Logan? It must be something interesting if you’re as old as you say.”

“My healing rate is significantly high--plus I have these,” he holds out a fist and his claws sprang forth quickly, causing Abigail to jump in surprise. 

“Fucking awesome,” she breathes, her grin refusing to leave her face as she hesitantly runs a finger along the side of one of the claws. “I can’t even tell what kind of metal that is! It’s molecular density is off the charts.”

He struggles to listen to her comment, brain going a little static as she runs her finger along the claw, brushing over his knuckle gently.

“Um… it’s adamantium,” he clears his throat. “Extremely rare, and not on the periodic table. “Military put me through an experiment back in the 70’s, fusing the metal with my skeleton so they could make me into a weapon.”

“Oh.”

A little more aware of his discomfort, she drops the subject. Instead, they discuss lighter topics to fill the silence, talking about Eden or music or the culture shifts they’ve witnessed through the years. They stop in a town long enough to fill the gas tank and grab lunch, getting moving again after not even 20 minutes.

When the sun finally sinks below the horizon, they pull into a tiny town that only has one motel. Not a single store or diner was open past 6 pm, so they would be forced to go hungry until breakfast the next morning.

In their motel room, they discover themselves quite unfortunate; the weather is supposed to drop down below freezing overnight, and the wall heater doesn’t work. It isn’t a real problem for Logan, but he watches Abigail toss and turn under her blankets on the other bed, shivering as she can’t fall asleep.

“You’re cold,” he states the obvious.

“I’ll be fine,” she insists as her teeth chatter, causing him to roll his eyes with a sigh.

It’s an internal battle for him, because he knows she could survive the night being a little cold, but he doesn’t want to see her like that--not to mention that the more impulsive side of his thoughts are much more eager to pick the alternative option.

“Get over here,” he holds up his blanket and she glances at his bare chest and even manages to _blush_ despite being freezing.

(Her flustering makes him feel significantly better about himself, glad he isn’t the only one hyper-aware of the other’s state of dress.)

“No, you don’t have to--I’m fine to-”

“ _Abbie_.”

She goes silent at the nickname, almost as surprised by it as _he_ is. He’s a bit embarrassed and he’s almost tempted to apologize for it--but then she’s shifting out of her bed and crawling into his and his mind goes silent. He can see their breath in the cold room and she’s hesitant and nervous, laying not even four inches in front of him. She makes no move to touch him but he can still see her shivering so he takes the initiative and wraps his arm around her waist, pulling her forward.

She’s tense, her arms up against his chest as she lays there completely still. It isn’t until she adjusts so that her head is laying on his bicep that he realizes that _he’s_ tense, too. He tries to relax as he feels her tilt her head up to look at his face and he forces himself to keep his eyes closed--because, if he opens them, he’s going to stare into those _very_ blue eyes and notice the blush that she is most _definitely_ still sporting, and then he’ll glance down at her lips and he won’t be able to stop himself from kissing her.

And that’s not what he wants because it’s too _fast_ and too _impulsive_ and she’ beautiful and perfect and _Charles' daughter_ \--and he’s already crossed _enough_ lines having her cuddled up to his fucking _chest_.

“Thank you,” it’s barely even a whisper but he still hears it and he grunts in response because he doesn’t trust himself to respond. So he just lays there with an arm draped over her and he feels a shiver go down her spine. It’s probably because she’s finally warming up again--except he feels a similar one go down his own spine because she’s scooting closer and she’s pressed right up against him with a leg tucked between his own, trying to take in as much warmth as possible. 

He can feel her breath against his chest and it’s a spark to light a wildfire through his body, millions of nerve endings cracking with emotions he hasn’t felt in a long time and the tingling keeps moving, spreading from his chest up his neck and down his arms. He tightens his arm around her and her breath hitches, his heart skipping a beat. 

Neither move. Neither say a single word and they just lay there, knowing that _this_ marks a change in their relationship, a change in how they interact because it’s too _soon_ to act on these emotions--too _late_ to ignore them, either. So they lay there until they have no other option than to succumb to the pull into darkness.

And the last thing Logan thinks is that this isn’t at _all_ what he wanted or planned or needed--but he’s struggling to really care because having her wrapped in his arms may feel _wrong..._

… but it also feels _perfect_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was fun to write.


	4. Sparks can start wildfires in you veins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are tense. Kinda angsty, but they won't admit it!

Waking up with Abigail in his arms, Logan realizes that he’s a fucking _idiot_.

What the hell does he think he’s doing? This isn’t some nameless conquest with a nice pair of legs--though he has to admit her legs _are_ pretty damn fine--and he can’t just cozy up to her. Even if that seems to be the only fucking thing he really wants to do. He has to stop himself smacking himself for his stupidity--because his arm is tightly wrapped around her back and he doesn’t want to wake her.

Her forehead is pressed to his collarbone and her breath is cascading down his chest and sternum in pleasant ripples of warmth. It’s so familiar, yet foreign; sure, he’s had plenty of women in his arms over his nearly 200 years, but this feels _very_ different. Usually he enjoys something like this because he remembers how loud his bed-companion screamed the night period and its all smug pride and emotional detachment. But-- _fuck_ \--he enjoys this because she’s got her hips pressed right up against his lower abdomen, her leg still tucked between his and her smaller arm is trapped between them. 

He tries to tell himself that it’s just another person’s body touching his own, but then why the fuck does it feel this absolutely amazing? It’s with that thought that he realizes he’s going to have to get up and risk waking her anyways because he’s like a spring chicken since absorbing his clone’s life-force and that also means that he has the sex-drive of a horny teenager--but given his old age, he feels more like an old man hyped up on fucking Viagra. He needs a cold shower. _Now_.

He slowly tries to shift away from her unconscious form and there’s a tug in his gut when her eyebrows pull together at the loss of his body heat. He even goes as far as tugging a pillow down to replace his upper arm where she had her head resting--his thoughts yelling _Idiot, idiot, fucking idiot!_ while he pulled the blankets up over her shoulders and tucked them into the space he previously filled beside her. When had he ever bothered to tuck anyone in? When had he ever even fucking _thought_ to do something that considerate? 

How long has he known her? A day and a half? Two days? And already she has crawled into his fucking chest and taken up residence, looking at him with those blue eyes and flashing him those stupidly glorious smiles that he _knows_ she doesn’t even think about. So he has to do something. Because he can’t keep this up if he wants to respect Charles’ memory by not fucking his daughter. 

He also realizes that it won’t be as simple as just acting like things didn’t change between them last night because she gives him the same smile as the day before when he returns from his shower, but now she’s blushing slightly, too. And fuck. Because he isn’t the only one majorly affected by the night prior and this would be so much easier if at least one of the involved parties was oblivious to the mounting tension.

Fuck.

 _Fuck_.

So he does the only thing he can think to do: he acts like a cold-heart _dick_ . No soft smiles or helpful explanations; instead, it’s all _hurry up, we’re wasting daylight_ and rushed breakfasts. He ignores any of her little comments--even when they make him want to smile or laugh--and he answers her questions as shortly and unattached as possible.

He finds out that the route he was planning to take to take them is snowed in. They’re just on the cusp of Arkansas and it looks like almost the entire state is facing major blizzards. While it typically doesn’t snow much in Arkansas, this is one of the coldest winters in decades. He’s hoping if they head towards Birmingham, they can avoid getting stuck in any towns for too long.

It takes less than 30 minutes of driving for Abigail to catch onto Logan’s attitude. Two cold, unsatisfying, and one-worded answers along the nearly-deserted highway and she doesn’t bother trying to make any more conversation. He doesn’t either, and he can tell she’s pissed. She smells like adrenaline and noradrenaline--but he doesn’t even need his impeccable sense of smell to pick up on her anger. She’s got her jaw clenched and she’s staring straight ahead, absolutely refusing to even acknowledge him. Arms folded and legs crossed away from him, it’s obvious she’s shutting him out. 

A part of him is a little hurt by her cold-shoulder, but the louder part of him is arguing that not only does he deserve it, but this is a good thing--because at least this means that he’s less likely to give in and recklessly kiss her like the more irrational side of him keeps imagining.

Unfortunately, they only make it half of the distance Logan hoped to. With the mounting snow, the distance that should have taken them just over 5 hours to drive takes them nearly 10 hours. He realizes they have to stop in the next town they come across because snow is falling and he can barely see the road 20 feet in front of him. As much as he wants to get back to Eden as soon as possible, he also wants to _survive_ the journey.

The next town they happen to come across is Parrish, Alabama and it looks like something straight out of the 1800’s. _Old Town, New Spirit_ reads the sign as they pull through the ancient streets. While he doesn’t doubt the first part of their slogan, he is seriously questioning the second part. The town has one middle school and one high school--both of which they pass while searching for somewhere to stay the night. While there is no shortage of churches, they haven’t passed a single motel. He has to remind himself that they are ignoring each other to prevent himself from cracking a joke at Abigail, asking her how opposed she is to breaking into a church for the night.

Without even looking at him, she says the first thing to him since that morning and he almost has to ask if it’s just his imagination or if she really said something; “We should find a bar or something; I bet a local could point us in the direction of a place where we can stay the night.”

Not trusting his voice, he grunts in reply and soon finds a restaurant and bar on the far East side of town. They head inside and sit at the bar, getting a table out of the question. It’s bad enough that they have to travel together, and neither is particularly eager to have to look at the other. Sitting down, his shoulder brushes hers and they both unwillingly tense before she clears her throat and asks the man behind the counter for a beer. Logan follows suit with a whiskey. 

After learning from the bartender that there is one motel just down the street, they each get a quick burger for dinner and head out. While hardly any words are exchanged between them, there’s an underlying agreement in the air that the sooner they get to sleep, the _better_ \--because the sooner they sleep, the sooner they can get back on the road and get to Eden. The sooner they get to Eden, the sooner they can avoid the awkward, stifling tension _crackling_ between them.

So they get a room with two beds and they’re both out as soon as their heads hit the pillow because ignoring each other all day was absolutely _exhausting_ . Because the truth of the matter is that neither of them _want_ things to be like this between them. They had been hitting it off before, and now they can’t even make more than fleeting eye contact. Logan keeps wondering why she hasn’t yelled at him yet or done something petty, but then he remembers that she’s fucking sixty and not the immature brat he kind of wishes she were.

(Because it would be a lot easier to ignore his blatant attraction to her if her personality weren’t just as attractive to him.)

But, _no_ , she’s a mature adult who hasn't impulsively lashed out at him or otherwise acted indignantly towards him. Instead, she’s all silent anger and reserved fury--and he’s fucking _pissed_ that he finds the way she angrily bites her lip to be _undeniably_ sexy. 

The following morning, he’s up at the first sign of daylight because he only found restless sleep the entire night--quite shitty in comparison to the night before with his arms wrapped around the gorgeous mutant in the bed across from him. He left the room to go ask what the best route the hell out of Dodge was, only to find out that the entire town is snowed in--and the roads wouldn’t even be cleared until the following afternoon. _Fuck_. This is the worst news he could get.

After breaking the news to an absolutely stunning, sleepy Abigail, they go down to a lunch-counter-style diner and have breakfast. Logan announces that he’s going to go and see if he can buy better chains for the truck’s tires, knowing the snow is a lot more worrisome than they previously judged. She pulls out a book from inside her jacket and informs him that she’ll be staying at the diner until he returns.With more than a little hesitancy, he reluctantly leaves her there, knowing that they could do with a little time apart to help clear the air. While they can’t go back to being as _friendly_ as before, they should probably act a little more civil towards each other.

After buying better quality chains and putting them on the truck, he heads back to the diner, curious to see how much of that book she has finished. Much to his displeasure, he finds she’s abandoned her book entirely--instead chatting cheerfully with the man sitting next to her at the lunch-counter. One look at the guy who must be in his mid-to-late twenties and Logan can tell the guy is interested in her. Can you blame him? He asked himself. The guy was blond and clean shaven, blue eyes staring at her with a smile playing at his lips.

Abigail abruptly stops talking, turning to make eye contact with Logan as he approaches. Her smile only falters for a second before she catches herself, obviously not wanting to make the tension between them obvious. 

“Logan!” She greets him with a dashing grin and he feels like he just got punched in the gut because suddenly he’s breathless. “This is Kyle. He and his friend also got stuck in town while visiting his aunt.”

Kyle reaches out to shake his hand nervously, obviously a little intimidated by the extremely muscular man staring at him somberly. A firm handshake later, Kyle’s eyes dart between the two mutants in questioning curiosity.

“Oh, are you guys…”

The unspoken question buzzes in the air and Logan holds his breath while Abigail’s heart skips a beat and her eyes widen. “No,” she laughs nervously. “We’re just friends. We’re actually on our way up to work at a winter camp in Ohio.”

Logan’s impressed by her smooth lie, more than a little curious if she has always had such a silver tongue--and ignoring that small voice in the back of his brain that wants to know much _more_ about her tongue. He smirks, trying to ignore that thought, “Yeah, nothing better than teaching snotty little kids how to ski.”

Kyle laughs, more relaxed as he focuses his attention back on the beautiful girl in front of him, assured that there’s no competition in his way--something that makes Logan’s jaw clench as he pictures his claws slicing through the dick’s face like butter. “Well, you should totally join us at the bar down the street--Logan can come too.”

Logan flashes Kyle a sarcastic smile and Abbie responds with a ‘ _Sounds great_ ,’ before Logan call tell the guy to kindly _fuck off_. Kyle leaves and Logan sits down to order some lunch. Abigail has a mostly finished grilled cheese with tomato soup beside her and she’s already gone back to reading her book. They don’t speak as he gets his burger and orders a beer. After a few minutes, she finally breaks the silence without looking up from the page in her book.

“You don’t have to come to that bar tonight,” she says in a voice much warmer than earlier--it pisses him off to think that she’s only acting nicer because of her time conversing with _Kyle_. “I’m more than capable of taking care of myself for the night.”

“No, I’ll be there.” He forces himself to continue focusing his attention on his food, even when she glances up from her book to study him. He wants nothing more than to look into her spectacular blue eyes and tell her that he wants nothing more than to go to a bar with _her_ , watch her big blue eyes light up as she flashes the _biggest_ smiles, try and memorize her melodious laugh that somehow manages to light a fire in the middle of his chest and send shocks of delicious heat throughout his entire being. “I ‘got nothing better to do than sit around with a glass of whiskey.”

She turns back to her book and says nothing in reply. Instead, they sit for the remainder of the afternoon in tense silence--no longer charged with anger, but still not entirely pleasant.

}-*-{

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like Logan's inner conflict. It's fun to write.
> 
> Things are getting *heated* in the next chapter!


	5. To walk the fine line between love and hate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> their fighting results in a steamy encounter

He knows he shouldn’t have said it. It’s a dick move and he can’t even deny it. He doesn’t bother to think because he sees her and it’s like all the warning bells in his head going off at once. Because, after an hour in the bathroom, showering and getting ready, she looks-- _ fuck _ .

Like he hasn’t traveled the world, met thousands of women--many of which put far more time and effort into their look than she has--and he still can’t name a single one more radiant than her. Because she’s wearing all black, but her eyes are shining, circled by gold, and her hair is gently wavy, cascading around her face. She’s wearing black jeans, but Logan almost wishes they left more to the imagination because there are small rips all the way up to her hips and he definitely doesn’t want anyone else seeing exactly how tan living in Nuevo Leon left her. And why for the love of all that is fucking good in the world are they  _ low rise _ ? Because her plain black shirt is just tight enough that it rids up above her hips, revealing even  _ more _ tanned skin--not to mention the neckline which is wide and round and displays the entirety of her collarbone, as well as some cleavage. 

Now she’s a tiny person--and he’s not just saying that she’s skinny because she’s probably the height of a 4th grader--and he distinctly remembers her laughing as she mentions she still has to shop in kids clothes most of the time because adult sizes never fit right. Taking in her size and stature, he doesn’t doubt it and he knows she couldn’t be more than a b-cup--a generous a-cup, more likely. So seeing even a hint of cleavage is already making his brain go static, rational thought suddenly going on vacation--and he tries and blame that for his absolutely idiotic choice of words.

“You don’t honestly plan on going out like that.”

It’s such a stupid and surprising comment that she literally stops in the middle of taking a step, her jaw dropping slightly as she narrows her eyes at him. “ _ Excuse me _ ?”

“You’re not goin’ to the bar dressed like that.” He fucking says it again and, in his head, he’s pummeling himself for being so stupid, but he still can’t force the rest of him to regret saying that. They’ve barely said anything to each other since that night two days before and here he is making a clown out of himself, telling this fucking grown-ass woman that she can’t wear an outfit that isn’t even definable as promiscuous out to a bar.

And she’s fuming as she slowly walks straight up to him and crosses her arms while cocking her head to the side, fixing him with a furious glare. It’s obvious she’s pissed, not only because he has the nerve to say something like that, but also because this is the first real thing he’s bothered to say to her at all since he began acting like a full-tilt  _ prick _ . There’s a down-right sexy fire blazing behind her eyes and he has to remind himself that this is  _ not _ the time to be undeniably turned on.

“I don’t know what makes you think you’re allowed to say something like that to me, but I’ll have you know that I can wear whatever the fuck I want.”

“I think you should think twice before you just mosey along looking for people’s attention.” Why? Why, why, why, why,  _ why _ the  _ fuck _ would he say that? It’s like every rational thought in his brain has checked out, and all he has left is this is this stupid jealousy of any other man that she could give the time of day--because he knows that any other guy would probably be a little more deserving of her attention than him.

“Well, it’s a good thing I’m an adult and can do whatever I please, huh?” He doesn’t know if she meant to step closer to him, but now they’re just inches apart and she’s challenging him,  _ daring _ him to try and pull rank on her--and it’s fucking  _ hot _ .

“What, like get your buddy Kyle to scratch an itch for you?” He taunts and notices her chest heaving just a little harder as she raises an eyebrow and licks her lips. He’s already leaning down a little to try and be intimidating but she won’t back down--both fucking hot  _ and _ invigorating.

“ _ Maybe _ ,” she taunts right back, her voice low and bordering on predatory. She’s got her head tilted back and her eye’s are a blue whirlpool of emotions--rage, hunger, contempt, and pure, primal desire.

“Oh,  _ really _ ? It’s not smart fooling around with strangers--even if you can do whatever you want. We wouldn’t want you getting hurt because you’re feeling a little excited.”

“I’m a woman with needs and it doesn’t seem like anyone  _ else _ is going to be focusing on them anytime soon.”

Oh, there’s no denying the challenge behind her words, saying  _ I plan on having a good night--what are you going to do about it?  _ They both just stand there silently fuming, tension building exponentially, leaving the air crackling with raw, overwhelming energy. They glance down to each other’s lips before locking stares again. This time, there’s a different heat behind their gazes as nothing can be heard but increasingly labored breaths.

And suddenly they’re crashed together in a vicious kiss full of teeth and smashed lips and hot tongues. It’s like every single synapse in his brain is exploding with an energy overload--like his head is a mess of electrical wires and she just tripped the circuit breaker. Logan almost wonders if this is the first breath of oxygen he’s ever breathed in his nearly 200 years of life because everything seems clearer and sharper--even if he can’t tell you which way is up or down.

He knows that Abigail feels the same because her heart is beating erratically and she pulls away with a gasp for breath before diving right back in, sliding her left hand up his collarbone to his shoulders and curling it into his hair with an absolutely  _ sinful _ moan. She pulls a little harder than most would consider pleasurable--not that he’s considered  _ most _ \--and it sparks something feral deep down in the pit of his stomach. With a low, erotic growl that sends a shock of electricity straight down her spine, he abruptly grabs behind both of her thighs, hoisting her up and she wraps her legs around the small of his waist, significantly enjoying the new angle as their tongues battle relentlessly.

The motel room has dual sinks along the wall next to the bathroom and he walks them over to the counter. Squeezing at her ass before setting her down, he takes the opportunity as she throws her head back with a moan to drag his hot tongue all the way from the base of her throat down at her collarbone to the patch of skin right behind her ear, nibbling at her lobe before trailing his teeth back down the path. Her head is still thrown back and her hand is still carding through his hair, sending delicious tendrils of electricity across his shoulder blades--he has to hold her hips down as she rolls her torso along his with breathless, remarkable little moans. She brings his mouth back onto her own with a fiery passion as his thumbs brush along her waistband, searching for the button on her jeans. As he finds it and pulls the zipper down, he slides one hand down her ass and lifts her so he can pull her jeans right off. 

“Oh, you’re killing me, darlin’,” he groans appreciatively at the sight of her black boy-cut lace panties--the way they hug around the curve of her hip bone  _ deliciously _ torturous. Never looking away from her heated gaze, he sensuously slides them down her legs, moving down to his knees in front of her. She moans at the sight of him there, his relentless stare erotic in a way that’s driving her absolutey mad.

He can already smell her arousal and it takes every bit of self-control to not fuck her 7 ways to Sunday. Instead, he focuses on her erratic heartbeat and labored breathing as he slowly loops her legs over his shoulders, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses trailing slowly from her knee to the uppermost part of her inner thigh. His breath ghosts over her glistening center and her head rolls bad with a drawn out moan. Tightening his grip on her legs, he growls out a  _ look at me _ and feels her legs tremble.

She lifts her head and meets his gaze with a desperate, pleading gaze and finally he drags his tongue from the base of her folds all the way up, lightly grazing her clit with his teeth. Her hips buck up violently and he has to hold them down--he briefly wonders if she bruises or if her enhanced healing prevents that. The question vanishes as she rakes her fingers through his hair and pulls again, urging him to continue his torturous ministrations. He repeats the movement again and again until she’s a moaning mess above him. Occasionally, he’ll suck on her clit until she gasps, just on the edge of pure ecstasy. 

He can’t help but just stare up at her fathomless beauty, pride swelling up at being able to bring such unhindered pleasure to this other-worldly creature before him. Despite having the most intense, painful erection imaginable, Logan can’t think of anything more enjoyable than bringing her to the greatest peaks of gratification before slowly drawing her down from the clouds and the release she desperately desires.

“ _ Logan _ ,” she gasps out with the most  _ wrecked _ of moans he has ever heard. The sound of his name rolling off her tongue in the fits of pleasure awakens a more primal part of his conscience, encouraging him to bring her the release she so desperately begs him for. “Oh, fuck- _ -please _ , Logan.”

He reaches one of his hands down to her folds and slowly pushes a single digit into her core--she’s so wet that it slides in without any issue and he groans at how tight she is while he attacks her clit with his mouth. Her eyes widen and she can’t even keep her eyes focused, wanton gasps ripping through her chest and filling the charged atmosphere around them. After a few minutes, he adds another digit and curls them up inside her, going mad just  _ thinking _ about how tight she would feel around his cock.

Abigail’s cacophony of little moans is like a symphony to his ears and she can’t form any words, too far gone down the rabbit hole of euphoria. Standing quickly, Logan captures her lips in a bruising kiss as he continues to curl his fingers inside her, his thumb rubbing merciless circles over her clit. He swallows each and every one of her moans with a stroke of his tongue against hers. 

“Go ahead, baby, come for me,” he breathes against her lips and she trembles as he wraps his unoccupied arm around her waist. She grips onto his forearm like it’s her lifeline and he feels like there are nebulas swirling inside his veins, molten lava and nuclear energy pulsing beneath his skin, sending fire throughout his entire nervous system.

He pulls away from her lips and rests his forehead against hers when he feels her walls spasm around his fingers--and it feels absolutely electrifying knowing that she feels all the same electricity that he does. She stares into his eyes with a broken moan and a sob, tears of euphoria gathering in the corners of her eyes. It’s by far the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen and his own heart skips a beat as he tries to memorize her face while she rides out her orgasm. 

Her body continues to spasm around his fingers as she rests her face in the crook of his neck and they both try to catch their breath. All is silent except for their breathing and the sound of their pulses in their ears.

As soon as the high of the moment recedes, Logan pulls away slightly and swallows. When did he decide this is a good idea? He pulls away completely and clears his throat as he realizes who he just ate out on a motel room’s counter. What the fuck is he  _ thinking _ ? 

“There,” he grinds out, only distantly aware of his own voice as what they just did feels too surreal. “Now you don’t need to worry about needing anyone to focus on your needs.”

She’s silent for a minute before she scoffs in shock and anger. “You absolute  _ prick _ .”

Good. She’s mad at him and it helps him ease his guilt just a little. He’s supposed to leave her alone and he’s obviously failing. He can’t even meet her eyes and he turns around to grab his coat. It’s probably a good idea to head to the bar first, giving her a little while to stew in her anger.

“Don’t forget to change your shirt,” he calls behind him.

He’s out the door and has it closed just in time to hear her boot crash into the other side of the door as she releases a short, frustrated yell of anger. With a grimace, he continues on, ignoring the suspicious looks he’s getting from the room-cleaning lady.

He could  _ really _ use a whiskey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost considered leaving of the angst at the end, but it was necessary.
> 
> this was a whirlwind to write! I mean, damn...


	6. Like magnets in a hurricane, you and I collide and pull apart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They go to the bar. They make more mistakes.

If Logan were to keep a list of his major fuck-ups throughout his life, he’s pretty certain what just happened in that motel room with Charles Xavier’s  _ daughter _ belongs at the very top of it. How could he be so stupid and pig-headed? He knows it's all bullshit and, honestly, he wishes he would have just stayed at the Haven--anything that would result in something other than the sinking in his stomach.

It’s fucking him up. Because now he’s conflicted, battling overwhelming guilt at the idea of using his old friend’s daughter, and the other warring issue: he’s lightheaded and kinda  _ happy _ . Because that was the biggest rush he had felt in a long time and he wants more. He pissed her off something fierce, but he  _ knows _ it's just a front, hiding how much she wants-- _ needs _ \--the same. He’s already addicted to that fucking blonde and he can tell she’s not too far behind him in that department. And he really hates how easy it is for him to forget that her hairstyle is so very much like Charles’ back in the 70’s. It’s like, the longer he’s around her, the easier it is to compartmentalize her heritage and just give into the impulse to kiss her and spend hours learning all the little sounds he could draw from her lips.  _ Fuck _ . He just needs to finish his damn drink.

Staring down into his glass of whiskey dumbly, he can’t escape the memory of her gorgeous blue eyes, dazzling sapphires catching the light of the heavens for all to see. He realizes they were the real culprits responsible for the civil war between his head and his heart--or better yet, the war between the butterflies in his chest and the endless drop of his stomach, lower and lower into the abyss that is overwhelming guilt.

It’s all just a fucking nightmare. 

She comes through the front entrance of the bar not too long after that, wearing the same shirt as before, but a pair of blue jeans to go with them. He knows he got them off her before they even did anything earlier, so she must have some other reason in wearing another pair. Her blue jeans are more modest without any rips up her legs and it’s with that piece of information that he realizes he must have left bruises on her thighs--something she didn’t wish to show--when he ate her out. It leaves him all hot and bothered, only overpowered by the guilt he feels. He went down on Charles’  _ daughter _ . There must be something majorly fucked up in him to do that. 

At the same time, seeing her radiant beauty that already has the attention of over half the bar’s patrons, he knows there’d have to be something fucked up in him  _ not _ to feel undeniably attracted to her. Maybe some are stupid enough to write her off when they see that she’s missing an arm, or that she definitely isn’t a double-D--but Logan sure as hell isn’t that stupid. Not by a fucking long shot. No, because she’s got an aura to her that just doesn’t make sense and he can’t help but want to make her smile. And laugh. He wants to watch her eyes light up, somehow making the atmosphere in the room feel lighter.

How the hell did this girl stay hidden from the world all these years? If he was working at that University of her’s thirty years ago, he would’ve noticed her--and he wouldn’t have forgotten her. And he most-fucking-definitely would have noticed her lack of aging. Were people at that school that fucking blind? Because unforgettable is the only word he can think of while staring at her from the bar, gulping hard when she met his eye with her own gaze--ice-cold and  _ pissed _ .

Fuck.

If he got the opportunity to go back in time and stop himself from being such a dick, he would deck himself and then show her real pleasure, whispering every sweet complement that he can in her ear. Man, he could use a Kitty Perde on hand…

Abbie--fuck, he can’t even stop himself from using the nick-name he never meant to give her--looks away from him just as fast as she had spotted him, head held high and jaw clenched as she walks with purpose towards a tall table on the opposite side of the room. He recognizes Kyle and some lady with him, waving as Abbie approaches the table and greets them both. Logan only feels a little guilty when he listens into their conversation, lying to himself that he’s doing it to make sure she’s safe. Not because he’s jealous of fucking  _ Kyle _ \--and definitely not because he already misses the sound of her voice (even as her moans from earlier still echo around in his head).

“Hey!” stupid Kyle greets way too happily. “You made it! Nikki, this is the girl I met earlier, Abigail--Abigail, this is Nikki, my best friend since diapers.”

“Nice to meet you,” Abbie laughed as she shook the other woman’s hand--and Logan’s stomach did not flip at the sound.

“Where’s Logan? Is he not joining us?” he can hear the fucking hope in Kyle’s voice. 

“Um, I think he’s at the bar,” she tries to sound disinterested before giving a little evil smirk. “I doubt he’s going to join us; he’s probably planning on moping all alone with his whiskey.”

He’s half-tempted to send her a look so she knows he can hear her jab at him. He listens, half turned away from their side of the room as Kyle spots him and points him out to his friend, Nikki. He has to take a drink to keep from smirking as the woman gives a low wolf-whistle in appreciation.

“That’s him?” she breathes out. “Damn, if you’re not gonna invite him over, I’m more than willing to do it.”

He can hear Abbie cough and shift in her seat a little, “I guess I can go over and see if he’ll join us.” She’s up and grudgingly trudging over to him before Nikki can offer again, something that he can’t help but grin at just a little. At least he knows that he isn’t the only one that can get a little jealous. She comes up beside him at the bar with a huff and a glare which he refuses to glance at.

Oh, he can tell she’s still majorly pissed, adrenaline still pumping from her earlier orgasm. With the most minuscule glance her way, he notices the slight flush to her cheeks--another bi-product of their little adventure in their room earlier. She’s still extremely fucking turned on, only held back by her even stronger anger towards him. Damn, if he hadn’t have said anything before leaving her there, she’d probably be jumping his bones at this very minute with the desire hidden behind her vexed gaze.

“What can I do for you, princess?”

She clenches her jaw at his teasing pet-name for her, glancing away with a huff before fixing him with a glare and her arms crossed, a bitter smile on her face as she tilts her head to the side and looks him dead in the eye, “If you want to sit here for the rest of the night, tell me now so I can go tell them you don’t want to join our table.”

He smirks at her choice of words as he finishes off his drink and grabs his jacket off the bar beside him. The last thing she wants is to keep having to look at him, a constant reminder of the mind-blowing things he did to her not even an hour before, “No, I think I’ll come spend the night with you guys.”

She just huffs before turning back around, not waiting for him to follow, a fake smile plastered across her face as Kyle greets them both. She barely acknowledges him after that, smiling and nodding along appropriately as she and Kyle chat, throwing in an occasional comment or laugh as obligated. It takes someone far more observant than the average schmuck to tell that she doesn't actually care about a word the guy says. But Logan is old enough and has seen enough to tell she’s putting all her energy into seeming unfazed by his presence at the table.

Nikki, on the other hand, is putting absolutely all her energy into making it clear that her goal is to get into Logan’s pants by the end of the night. Nikki’s a pretty gal, average height with a good complexion and even nicer breasts, clearly knowing how to use her asset to her advantage--but all of Logan’s focus is on the amazing little blonde across from him. The gorgeous woman with striking blue eyes and a slender jaw that clenches every time Nikki leans her chest closer to Logan or puts her hand on his arm. In the back of his mind, Logan notes that Nikki has a quick wit, but he isn’t paying enough attention to her to really appreciate the fact.

There’s this building feeling in his chest every time he notices Abbie gets annoyed--hope, maybe? He’s not quite sure, but it makes him anticipate being alone with her again even more. She’s aged and mature and not going to act like a jealous brat, but she’s still a little firecracker--and she’s fuming under the surface. It’s extremely entertaining to watch because he knows it takes a lot to push someone as old as her or as old as him to real anger, but Nikki just has grab his bicep and Abbie is about really to tell the woman to fuck off. It’s a delight to see.

Eventually, Kyle challenges Nikki to a game of pool and the two of them head off to the far corner of the room after both Logan and Abbie decline the offers to join. With the only two people under the age of 40 away from the table, Logan watches Abbie carefully as she attempts to look anywhere but at him.

“Ya gonna talk to me anytime tonight, princess?” he rests his hand under his chin with a small smile. She just glares at him for a second before shaking her head with a bitter laugh. “What? What’s got your panties in such a twist?”

His small smile splits into a huge, smug grin when her eyes snap to him with a new fury blazing in them. Damn, he would have made a panty comment earlier if he knew this is the kind of lively sight he’d be gifted with as a result. She has more vibrant of an expression on her face than she had all night talking with  _ Kyle _ .

“You really are such a dick,” she spits out at him, narrowing her eyes as she points an accusing finger in his direction. He kinda likes this side of her. Now that he thinks about it, maybe if he can’t get intimate with the beauty before him, he can at least get her really angry. Sure, it isn’t nearly as euphoric as watching her moan under his ministrations (or feeling her pull at his hair is a deliciously wicked way), but it still puts him in a better mood. “You don’t even want to be here; you’re just trying to aggravate me.”

“No I’m not,” he blatantly lied with a grin. “But if I was… is it working?”

She takes a deep breath and juts out her chin as she looks away with a growl, “You’re insufferable.”

“Aw, come on, sweetheart,” he leans forward on the table a little. “I’m just having fun. What have I honestly done since coming to the bar that’s got you so bothered.”

Her eyes span to him with so much fire he’s afraid he might spontaneously combust, but he knows he won. She won’t mention what happened at the motel even if her life depends on it, because she knows he’s just waiting for her to bring it up. One comment about her falling apart under his tongue and he would have the upper hand in their fight.

“Hm? Come one, princess, name one thing.”

“Well, you’ve been leading Nikki on all night,” she states with such a resolute tone that he’s kind of impressed with her level of composure.

“Who says I’ve been leading her on?” Logan asks like he isn’t lying through his teeth. That’s exactly what he’s been doing all night, but he’s not about to admit that to Abbie while he can annoy the fuck out of her.

“Oh, so you’ve been listening to her advances in sincere interest?” she raises an eyebrow to go along with her unconvinced tone. Damn, she really can read his intentions like a book at times.

“Well, I’ve got needs,” he mocks her earlier comment, knowing it’s the only real move he has to stop her from just blatantly calling him in his bullshit.

“Do you?” she scoffs at his reference to earlier in the motel room. Despite her anger, a blush still rises up on her cheeks--something that Logan secretly revels in. She already stood up from the table with her coat, ready to walk away the second she’s done arguing with him.

He stands up, too, leaning into her space just a little. “Oh yeah, “ he tells her quietly, not breaking eye contact. “And they obviously aren’t getting met.”

He knows he should have said it because there’s a challenge in that simple mocking of her earlier words that neither of them should really acknowledge. He’s about ready to walk away and go back to the bar for another drink when her nostrils flare and she gives a huff as she clenches her jaw. He half expects her to slap him for that comment and it’s a real surprise when she instead grabs a handful of his shirt and drags him behind her. He could resist if he really wants, but he’s too curious. He can’t help but also note how strong she must really be--despite her slight appearance and small stature.

She drags him not even 10 feet from the table to the bathrooms tucked in a hall opposite the side of the room where the pool tables lie. She kicks open the door to an empty bathroom and tags him in before turning and locking the door. It all happens so fast that Logan barely has time to register it all, let alone react as she walks straight over to him and grabs onto the collar of his shirt, dragging him down and colliding her lips with his.

His body reacts before his mind even has a chance, one hand reaching up, fingers sliding into the hair at the base of her neck as he cups her head, opening up to her insistent kisses. His other hand reaches out to her waist and lower back, just pressing her closer. Just holding her. Because all he really, truly wants is for her to stay. To stay in the moment and not walk away. 

Until she lowers her hand and brushes it across the front of his jeans, causing him to lose his breath. Then he just wants her. Desperately. He’s not sure what to do exactly so he grips her hair just a little harder and presses a little more insistently into the kiss, his mind going crazy trying to memorize what it feels like when her tongue brushed against his and her teeth trace his lip. He wants to remember each and every sound she makes when his fingers curl around her lower back, or when he brushes his thumb under her ear and she shivers.

His mind goes blank when she tugs at the button of his jeans before sliding his zipper down. He’s about to stop her and tell her that they shouldn’t continue but… what was he just thinking, again? He’s pretty sure he’s dishonoring Chuck, but who’s Chuck? Fuck, he can barely remember his own name, let alone anyone elses. What’s his name again? It doesn’t really matter. Because all he knows are the perfect lips pulling away from him and her bright, gorgeous eyes as she sinks to the floor, tugging his jeans down with her. 

He wants to protest and bring her up and kiss her again, but then her lips trace him through thin cotton and all he can hear is the ringing in his ears as he leans his head back with a shocked groan. In no time, she has her hand on his stomach as she takes him between her soft lips and he has to grip the sink beside him to stop from collapsing. Had he ever felt this good before? He certainly couldn’t recall any moment as perfect. 

He looks down to her and she matches his gaze, flattening her tongue along the underside of his cock before kissing along the shaft. Fuck. He can’t think of someone more gorgeous than the woman in front of him. She smiles when she notices his wrecked expression, pupils blown wide and cheeks blushed darkly. Logan can’t help the excitement that flutters in his stomach when he runs his fingers through her hair and she bites her lip, staring up at him as she keeps steady stokes. Abbie enjoys going down on Logan just as much as he enjoys going down on her.

Fuck.

_ Fuck _ .

He knows the moment before he’ll tumble over the edge. Abbie takes as much of him in as she can, relaxing her throat as she stares up at him and he can stop himself from gripping her hair and holding her there as he lets go, her name escaping his lips like a prayer. Her nails drag down his abdomen, creating a delicious pain that only drives him crazier. Stars. All he sees are stars. And her, a dazzling sight right in the center of his vision.

She stands from the ground and daintily wipes at the corner of her mouth as he tries to catch his breath, leaning against the wall for support. She grabs at the collar of his jacket and flattens it with her hand, adjusting it with a smirk. Once she’s satisfied, she pulls him down to her, lips hovering before his, hot breath making his skin tingle. Her eyes only flash to his for a second, noticing his daze before her lips brush the shell of his ear.

“Good luck with Nikki.”

It’s like a breathy moan and he has to shake himself to make sure he didn’t hear her wrong. But then she steps away from him with a cold gaze and leaves him alone in the bathroom. It takes him nearly a minute to figure out what happened before he’s pissed at her and himself. Fuck, how could he be so stupid? This was exactly what he didn’t want to happen, but all she had to do was look at him with those beautiful eyes and, suddenly, he’s putty in her hands. 

_ At least she’s pissed, _ he thought. He’s honestly pissed too (though he’s not sure if he’s pissed at himself or at her--or both). They can just ignore everything that had happened tonight and spend the rest of the trip to Eden hating each other’s guts. 

With that thought, he gets his clothes all in order and leaves the bathroom, immediately spotting Abbie over with  _ Kyle _ , laughing and playing darts. She says something and then Kyle is behind her guiding her movements as she aims at the dart board, getting a hit close to the bullseye. They cheer a little and he gives her a kiss on the cheek in excitement. It makes Logan more upset than he cares to admit.

As soon as Kyle turns away to take a drink of his beer, Abbie has two other darts in hand and throws them at the board in quick succession, hitting within the two inner circles of the dart board. With a smile, she retrieves them before Kyle sees a thing, and Logan can’t stop the smile that grows on his lips. 

_ No _ , he tells himself. _ Liking her has gotten you in enough trouble already. _

So Logan heads for the bar and gets another drink before finding Nikki and flirting with her. When Abbie notices, she clenches her jaw before going back to laying it on thick for Kyle--something that only pisses Logan off further. It goes like that for the rest of the evening before Nikki and Kyle leave, the two mutants left to stand in awkward silence. The kiss Kyle leaves on Abbie’s cheek doesn’t go unnoticed but neither say anything as they head back to the hotel. Nor is a word said as they prepare for bed and fall asleep on opposite sides of the room.

The air between them is tense, but it no longer holds the same anger anymore. Their silence is awkward and stifling, but neither bothers to break it, knowing that it’s a bad idea. They both made mistakes, and they know it. There’s something between them. And it’s chaotic and destructive, but why does it feel so right? Why is it so easy for them to fall together so quickly, even when they want nothing to do with each other?

Like protons and electrons, Abbie and Logan polarize in a storm cloud of tension. But then the air turns static--and the only option is a clash of lightning and rain. A storm of passion and sensation. A storm of emotions and skin.

No, perhaps it is smarter that they don’t say any words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not too proud of this one, but now things are gonna get good since this part is over...


	7. And sometimes the pull between you and i threatens to rip me apart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Car trouble, awkward truths, and a nice old lady. Angsty, but the chapter ends on a better note.

The two mutants regard each other in semi-civilized silence the next morning, never holding eye contact for longer than a few seconds and constantly keeping a few feet between them. It’s like they are more strangers to each other now after several moments of immense pleasure than they were when they hardly knew each other. Logan reminds himself that he still hardly knows her, even if he knows what she sounds like in a fit of pleasure, or the softness of her skin.

With news that the road is cleared at breakfast, they silently agree to get on the road as soon as possible. Now, Logan isn’t the only one wanting to get to Eden as soon as possible. Abbie wants to get out of the infuriatingly small truck and get as far away from Logan as possible because it's like neither of them can think properly when they’re around each other. About 5 hours into their endless journey does Logan finally break the silence: 

“We gonna ignore each other for the rest of the drive?” He says it despite his own logic and reasoning. He knows why they’re silent; why they should stay silent. He knows the severity of their actions and what a good decision it would be to just keep his mouth shut and drive.

So why is it so easy to just talk to her?

“I thought it’d be better for both of us,” she tells him without glancing away from the windshield.

Yeah, so did I, he thinks. “Yeah, but it also isn't that big of a deal… what happened.” He wants to believe it as he says it, but he just can’t. It was just sex. Actually, it wasn’t even that. They’re both adults with urges and what happened isn’t a big deal. So why the fuck did it feel so significant?

“Right,” she hums quietly, obviously trying to convince herself of the same. It makes him curious far beyond what he previously thought his 200-year-old-self capable of still feeling. Did she feel it, too? The static? The tensions and emotions that have been driving him crazy since meeting her.

“I mean, we’re both adults,” he baits her for more information. “It didn’t mean anything.”

She only hums in reply and Logan is about to interrogate her on what it meant for her, but then they hit a bump in the road and he has to jerk at the steering wheel in order to keep the truck from swerving and potentially rolling. Pulling over to the side of the road, he checks the rear-view mirrors to see what they must have driven over, only seeing some debris in the middle of the road back 50 yards. Shit.

Getting out of the truck, Logan curses dejectedly as he walks around the back. Out of the four tires, two of them are utterly destroyed, another one going flat pretty quickly. Fuck, this is exactly what he didn’t want happening. How is he supposed to get the blonde mutant with him to Eden and away from him as quickly as possible if they don’t even have wheels?

She gets out of the cab and rounds the truck to ask what’s the matter, muttering her own curses once she notices the tires. She’s clutching her arm to her chest and shivering as she stares at their immediate predicament. “This thing come with a spare or two?” she asks with her hand on her hip.

“It fucking better,” he grumbes as he checks the undercarriage and she grabs her down coat. “There’s only one down here.”

“Well, one is better than none,” she sighs. “We can at least replace one of the flats before rolling to the closest town. Does this truck have four-wheel drive?”

“Yeah,” he grunts while lowering the spare from under the truck bed.

“Then we should probably replace the front wheel,” she explains with a look of determination that reminds Logan that she’s lived alone for the last 30 years and she knows how to solve her own problems. “It’ll be a lot easier rolling the truck into town if we can steer it.”

With that, she rummages through the toolbox in the truck bed and pulls out a jack and a socket wrench. Logan doesn’t say a word, too impressed with her initiative to tease her or anything else. So they work silently, Logan getting the car up on the jack while Abbie turns on their hazard lights and rolling the wheel over. She uses the socket wrench after Logan starts unscrewing bolts with his fingers (he doesn’t miss her rolling her eyes at him). She steps back while he removes the tire, and he does a double-take as she lifts the new tire on her own and mounts it in place. Even after she steps back from the truck and looks at him expectantly, he just stares at her in surprise.

“What?”

“Aren’t you a little small to be able to lift a tire like that?”

“Not if I increase my muscle density,” she shrugs while looking back at the truck. “I told you I don’t just have wind powers.”

“But I thought you were only talking about manipulating inanimate things.”

“I can manipulate the cellular structure of just about anything, but inanimate objects are a hell of a lot easier. I can manipulate my own cellular structure but it takes a lot of energy if I do something complex. I wouldn’t even dare to try to manipulate another living thing. I can make myself stronger a lot more easily than I can make a plant stronger.”

“Huh,” he states lamely while starting to screw the bolts back in place.

Abbie soon lends a hand, screwing in another bolt beside him and that is when he notices the stripe of silver on her hand, flashing in the afternoon light. She had taken off her gloves when they made it too difficult for her to handle the bolts. He freezes as his blood begins pumping in his ears, making him light headed. Is that? It can’t be… But he has to know for sure. Shit, he hopes it isn’t.

“Abbie,” he asks slowly as she continues twisting the bolts into place. “What’s that ring you’re wearing?”

She tenses for a moment and he watches as her face flushes more heavily than it had before due to the cold air. “Nothing,” she tells him, too quickly for it to be the truth. 

“Abigail,” he says a little more, tensely. “What does your ring mean?”

“My mother gave it to me,” she avoids his eyes, still blushing furiously. With the last bolt in place, she quickly puts some distance between them, acting as if she doesn’t care about the conversation at all.

“Are you…” he can’t even get the full question out, the guilt already acting like a firing squad to his conscience. Fuck, please say no… “Are you a virgin?”

Please for the love of all that is good and holy, just say no…

She doesn’t respond, back still turned to him and feet fidgeting

“Fuck,” he grounds out lowly before getiing louder. “Fuck! Why didn’t you say anything earlier?”

“What the hell was I supposed to say?” she whips around with fury in her eyes and a blush still coating her cheeks. “When the hell was I supposed to mention it?”

“We… fuck, I can’t believe,” Logan can’t express how he feels, alternating between guilt and anger like the worst set of bongo drums. “Why didn’t you stop me? And why… at the bar?”

She doesn’t say anything, instead turning away with a conflicted expression on her face, warring between embarrassment and--shame? Oh, good. At least Logan isn’t the only one feeling like a dog with his tail tucked between his legs. After a minute of waiting for her to have a response, Logan just sighs in frustration.

“Just steer the damn truck.” She gets the truck into neutral and stands at the passenger side with the door open, ready to steer the wheel while also helping push the car along. Logan situates himself at the back, still unable to let it go. “You never…?”

He hears her sigh in embarrassment. “No.”

“Why not? You’re, like, fucking 70.”

“I didn’t want…” she gets frustrated, struggling to find the right words. “I didn’t want to get involved with anyone that would… I wasn’t about to be with someone that I’d lose in a few short decades.”

Yeah, he can relate to that. But there’s more there than she’s letting on. If she’s still a virgin, then that means…

“What we did in the motel room… what happened at the bar… you’d never…?” He's too embarrassed to even ask the whole question--when had he ever been embarrassed about sex before?--but he knows that she catches his meaning because her shoulders tense and he has to wait for her answer.

“How far is the nearest town?” she asks randomly.

Fuck.

“Just a couple miles down the road,” he tells her, trying not to yell again. He’s pissed. He’s more than pissed. He can’t decide who he’s more pissed at--himself or her.

Wait, yes he can. He’s more mad with himself because the whole situation isn’t really her fault. Sure, she let him keep going and she definitely instigated quite a few of their intimate moments, but he knew from the beginning that he should have just left her alone. This is Charles Xavier’s daughter and here he is, tainting her innocence within just a few days of even meeting her. He could argue that someone who knows how to do what she did with her mouth can’t be that innocent, but that just makes him feel even worse. Because she’s the daughter of Charles Xavier. And she gave him the best blow job he had ever had not even 24 hours ago.

Fuck.

They eventually push the car into a little town in Indiana called Rockport and direct the car to the nearest auto shop which is conveniently across the street from a little diner. While Logan tries to bargain with the man there, Abbie has a look around. A large display of tires sits in front of the shop, but she can’t pick out any treads that match their truck. Even before the shop owner says it, she can guess they’ll be stuck there for a while.

“Those tires you’re looking for,” the man scratches the back of his neck while squinting at the desktop monitor before him. “I won’t be able to get those in for at least a week and a half--at least two weeks if that storm blows over Ohio.”

Logan curses a little under his breath but asks the man to order the tires anyways. Paying the upfront fee for the tires, he leads Abbie around the back of the truck with a locked jaw, obviously upset with this turn of events.

“So we’re stuck here for now,” she sums up, not at all waiting for him to try and break the news to her like she’s a little kid. Shit, he definitely knows she’s not a kid.

“Yeah, but that’s just half of our problem,” he puts his elbow on the rim of the truck bed. “We’ve barely got enough cash to pay for these tires once they get here, let alone food and a crappy motel room to last us long enough.”

“Hm,” she hums, her shoulders sagging as she thinks. Looking around a little, she sighs and gestures to the conveniently located diner across the street, HELP WANTED plastered on a red and white sign in the window. “Guess I’m getting a job.”

Without any further prompting, she makes her way across the street to the diner, leaving Logan there in surprise. Yet another thing he can’t help but admire about her: when things aren’t going her way, she gets to work to fix that. Resourcefulness. Fuck, why could his attraction to her just be physical?

With her on her own little mission, Logan set out to check under the hood of their currently immobile truck. He had heard a little rattling in the engine before they hit that debris in the road. Now he has all the time in the world to figure out what it is.

*****

Abbie enters the cafe with a shiver, the cozy atmosphere a stark difference from the below-freezing temperatures outside. Only a few people sit inside, two men who look like they do construction in the corner, two older ladies on the bar stools. One waitress by the name of Jessica, maybe in her 30s, stood behind the counter, counting out bills from the cash register. A lilting song played on a guitar dwindles quietly in the background as conversation and the scraping of utensils against plastic plates mulls in the air. 

“Hi, there,” the waitress gives a polite smile. “Can I set you up at a table or somewhere?”

“Um, I’m actually interested in the ‘help wanted’ sign out front,” she gives a quick smile back. “Is there any way I can get an interview today.”

Jessica the Waitress puts a hand on her hip as she glances at the clock in thought, “I go on break in about ten minutes, but I can interview you after that if you’d like.”

“That’s all I can ask for,” Abbie gave a big sigh of relief.

“Well, in the meantime, you just make yourself comfortable. And how about some coffee? A cup of black is free.”

With a fresh cup of coffee, the mutant makes herself comfortable at a booth near the door, glancing out the window and across the street at Logan who seems to be tightening something under the hood of the truck. So he heard the rattling when we hit bumps, too, she muses. She supposes anyone would know their way around a car engine after being alive just half as long as he has.

The last few days have been a rollercoaster for her, and she’s still not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. And Logan is driving her a little bonkers. One second, they’re making googly eyes at each other like a pair of hormonal teenagers, the next they’re about ready to tear out each other’s throats. She can’t decide anything about Logan. He’s infuriating and funny and rude and thoughtful and ten million other things she can’t really match to the same person. And, fuck, it’s like one second he looks at her with the happiest feelings she can sense, and then all she can pick up from him is anger and guilt. Why is he so angry? Where’s the guilt coming from? It’s not her virginity--at least not directly--because she’s sensed it on him since pretty much the beginning of their little road trip and he hasn’t even known of her virginal status for more than an hour or two.

Coming to the conclusion that she shouldn’t waste her time trying to figure out the enigma and paradox that seems to go by the name of Logan, Abbie decides to eavesdrop on the other patrons of the diner instead. The construction workers in the corner are too far away for her to hear them properly, but it isn’t hard to tune in to the conversation between the older pair of ladies at the bar counter.

“...And my grandniece, Rebecca, just turned three this last August. I’m supposed to go stay with Susan and Danny in a few weeks, before we all fly out to Oregon for Christmas,” the lady with short dark hair says, rifling through her purse for a cough drop.

“Oh, that sounds lovely,” the other woman says before sighing. “I’m a little down, myself. My daughter and son-in-law were supposed to come stay with me over Thanksgiving, but apparently his father isn’t doing very well, so they made the decision to stay in Chicago instead of coming with the rest of the family.”

“Oh, that’s too bad,” the dark haired lady consoles her. Abbie notices the Bible bags sitting at their feet and realizes they must have just come from a church function. “Well, at least you didn’t have to have too many people in your house.”  
“Oh, but I wouldn’t have minded--I never do,” the second lady shakes her head, pushing her coffee away from her. “And I have that mother-in-law quarter, you know, so they wouldn’t have been a bother at all.”

“Oh, that’s right,” the first lady muses. “I always wished I had one of those; they seem so convenient.”

“When I can actually make use of it!” the second lady chuckles bitterly. “The darn place just collects dust in my backyard since my children never use it. I’m tempted to turn it into a glorified storage shed!”

Abbie’s mind is already racing with all this new information. A mother-in-law quarters would be a lot more convenient than trying to find enough money for a motel room. Maybe she could negotiate a deal with the woman? But she highly doubts that the lady would just let two strangers stay on her property--especially two unmarried strangers, judging from the decorative dove and cross embroidered on her bag that no doubt contains her Bible and Bible Study materials.

Jessica the Waitress sets down two bowls of chicken noodle soup in front of the ladies and Abbie realizes she might have enough time to put a plan into action if she works fast. Grabbing her coat and stepping out, she hurries her way across the street to her fellow mutant.

“I think I can find us something cheaper than a motel to stay in, but I need at least twenty bucks,” she says, not willing to give any more details.

“What? Why?” he immediately demands.

“I need to make a stop at a store in order to make this work,” she tells him vaguely. 

“Don’t you have your own money?”

“All my money is in pesos,” she deadpans. “I forgot to exchange them when we were closer to the border.”

With a look of suspicion, he grumbles about how they barely have enough money for a day of meals since they have to buy the tires before handing her thirty bucks and practically orders her to bring back the change, causing her to roll her eyes. Nevertheless, she agrees to his terms and walks away before he can give her a whole lecture on money management and responsibility, in active pursuit of a cheap pawn shop.

Just 15 minutes later, she stands outside the local pawn shop and stares down at her hand in a moral conflict with herself. Finally, she grumbles to herself before pulling off her silver ring and replacing it with the one she just bought. It’s a simple fake-gold band with a pearl set on top. It wouldn’t be called the most conventional wedding ring, but it’s one of the only ones she could find that both fit her and cost less than $15. She also has a plain gold band for Logan that she hopes will fit him. She had to guess his ring size and the only real evidence she had to help her was her memory from when he had his fingers in her-

Clearing her throat, she makes her way to the shop to finger Logan resting against the hood of the truck with a cigar in hand, looking like he’s in deep internal-debate with himself as to whether or not it’s worth it to just go ahead and smoke it. He may be stressed now, but who knows that the journey still has in store for them?

“Here,” she holds out the ring to him. “Put this on.”

“Excuse me?” he raises an eyebrow at her in amusement, eyes flickering to the ring on her own finger. “Well, maybe buy me dinner first.”

“Hilarious,” she glares before turning away to glance at the dinner. “Just put it on; I’m trying to save us from sleeping in the truck.”

He puts on the ring and she tries not to blush when it’s a perfect fit--he just gives her a confused look that she pays no heed to. With a curt nod, she marches back to the diner with a look of determination. As she enters, though, she replaces it with a tired expression, slumping her shoulders a little as she takes a seat up at the counter. The woman with the dark hair is gone, but the other woman still sits there.

“Oh, you’ll have to grab a menu,” the lady tells her kindly. “Jessica is on her break at the moment.”

“Oh, thank you, no,” Abbie gives a sad laugh. “I’m actually just waiting to be interviewed… I couldn’t afford to get a meal if I wanted to.”

The lady turns to her in concern at that comment, “Now what makes you say that?”

“Oh, gosh, nothing,” Abbie ducks her head in feigned embarrassment. “My husband and I just really need the money so we can make it out of town again.”

“Yes, I didn’t think you’re from around here,” the lady says. “I’m Polly, by the way. What brings you to town?”

“I’m Abbie. Logan and I were just supposed to be passing through on our way to our friend’s cabin in Michigan, but we must have run over something bad because it destroyed our tires.”

“Oh, dear!” Polly gaspes. “Oh, you poor things… and just before vacation, too.”

“Yeah, it was supposed to be our second honeymoon,” Abbie smiles with a shrug. “But now we barely have enough money for gas with paying for new tires, and it looks like we’ll be here for at least a week and a half.”

“Can you afford to stay here that long?”

“That’s why I’m doing this interview,” she nods back to the kitchen. “Hopefully I can make enough money to at least pay for a few nights at a motel. If I can’t try and get an advance on the check, we’ll just stay in our truck.”

“Oh, no, it’s much too cold for that,” Polly shakes her head vigorously before pausing. “Well, I know this is strange… but, you know, I have this guest house…”

“Oh, that’s so kind of you,” Abbie laughs, putting her hand on Polly’s arm. “But I could never ask you something like that for a couple of strangers.”

“You’re not asking,” she presses. “I’m insisting!”

“We can’t impose on you like that.”

“You wouldn’t be,” Polly laughs. “I’ve already got it all set up for my daughter and her husband who had to cancel their plans to visit, and I believe that God can provide for people in the strangest of ways when they desperately need it.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Abbie smiles. “We’d have to pay you.”

“Nonsense!”

“Please,” Abbie admonishes. “We can’t just accept such a thing without doing something in return.”

“Well,” Polly thinks for a second. “Is your husband any kind of handyman?”

Abbie glances out the window to where Logan stands with his cigar still not lit, a smirk forming, “He knows his way around a toolbox, I think.”

“Oh, is that your husband?” Polly follows Abbie’s gaze, eyes widening when she sees him. “Oh, he’s handsome--you lucky girl!”

“He’s alright,” she laughs, turning to Polly with a mischievous glint in her eye. “I’ll trade him for a room to sleep in if you’d like.”

“Oh,” Polly hits her shoulder playfully with a scolding look, making Abbie laugh when she notices the blush on the woman’s face. 

The grin doesn’t leave her face as she stares back out the window. Truly, not many women can resist the seer appeal of Logan. Abbie also thinks about what Polly said earlier. ‘God can provide for people in the strangest of ways when they desperately need it.’ Logan showed up on her doorstep when she was loneliest. She just spent yet another Thanksgiving by herself, all her students home with their families and she never grew close to her colleagues, worried they would notice how little--or not at all--she aged in the last three decades that she spent at that school. And then there’s Logan; the first mutant she’d ever really met, other than her mother. 

Did she need him to show up? Does she need him to whisk her away to live with a bunch of others just like her? She believes there’s a God, but does he really think she needs other mutants? Or maybe… God thinks she needs Logan. She can’t really handle that train of thought.

“I mean it, though,” Polly tells her seriously after a moment. “I want you two to stay at my place… it’s the least I can do for a sweet couple such as you.”

“You’re too caring,” Abbie tells her, genuinely touched by the woman’s compassion.

“I wouldn’t care for anybody if God hadn’t cared for me first,” Polly sets money on the counter. “Why don’t you go talk to your husband and I’ll wait here for Jessica. She should be back any minute now.”

Abbie hurries out of the diner and zips up her coat against the harsh weather, only feeling slightly guilty for lying to Polly who seems to be the kindest woman Abbie has ever met. But she wasn’t lying about too much. Sure, she lied about the vacation part, but she couldn’t very well go and explain that they’re mutants, running to a mutant-refugee village in Canada. Doing something like that is like just blatantly asking to get lynched in the town square while all the locals cheer and eat cotton candy. And maybe she didn’t have to invent the whole husband-and-wife thing, but no matter how nice Polly acts, Abbie doubts she’d approve of two unmarried strangers staying in her guest house.

So Abbie continues her trek over to the auto shop, reasoning away all her moral convictions. She flashes Logan a bright smile as she approaches and he raises an eyebrow in suspicion, definitely expecting her to still be pissed with him. She is still infuriated. But there are more pressing matters at hand.

Immediately, she walks straight up to him and places her hand against his chest as she leans close. Despite his surprise, Logan’s hands find their way to her hips and lower back as he holds her loosely. She looks up at him with adoring eyes that he knows must be part of whatever ruse she’s cooked up, but that doesn’t stop his heart from beating wildly at the sight.

She’s just so gorgeous and she feels so right pressed against him, even though there are numerous layers of clothes between them and nothing sexual in the air. He can’t help the little voice in his head that nags at him, saying this is something he wouldn’t mind doing for the rest of his pitiful existence; just holding her close and staring into those dazzling blue eyes.

“What have you been up to?” he asks quickly, eager to mask the awestruck feels pummeling at his gut.

“Oh, not much, just securing us a place to stay for the next week,” she reaches up and brushes her thumb against his stubbled jaw. “But you’re going to have to play along for this to work.”

He’s glad for her last statement, because it makes it easier to justify turning his face further into her hand. (He also notices the quick upturn in her breathing when he does that.) “And what roles are we playing here?”

“What last name do you want to go with?” 

“Howlett is on my ID.”

“Well, Mr. and Mrs. Howlett were on their way to a friend’s cabin in Michigan for their second honeymoon when their tires got destroyed. Now they’re stuck here with barely enough money to get them by, and a sweet local woman has offered to house them.”

He unwillingly tightens his grip on her waist when he hears her refer to herself as Mrs. Howlett, not too pleased with how nice that sounds to his ears, “That’s pretty close to the truth. Why not stick with the winter-camp-ski-instructors story you were telling yesterday?”

“Our lovely benefactor, Polly, is carrying both her purse and her Bible bag,” Abbie explains as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “She’d allow a married couple to stay in her guest house far sooner than she’d allow two unmarried strangers.”

“You seem to have this all figured out,” he teases, earning a smirk from her.

“What can I say? I’m a bit of a genius,” her smile falls as a blush settles on her cheeks, puffing out a shaky breath. “Now kiss me.”

“Excuse me?”

She blushes harder as she glares down at his chest, “We’re supposedly married and I just told you some very good news; it’s going to look quite suspicious if we’re on our second honeymoon and we don’t show any type of affection.”

“Right,” he grins. “That’s exactly why you want me to kiss you.”

“Logan,” she reprimands him like he’s a misbehaving child. He knows now isn’t the time to piss her off, but it’s just too fun watching her get so flustered. And the fire in her glare doesn’t do one fucking thing to settle the attraction he has toward her.

Before she can lecture him, Logan gently cups her face in his hands and brings his lips down to her’s, not at all missing her sharp intake of breath as presses his lips against hers a little harder. The kiss only lasts a couple of seconds, but It leaves them both a little dizzy and breathless, thoughts a little fuzzy as their bodies having melted together.

They look into each other’s eyes for a moment more, both knowing that shouldn't have felt as wonderful as it did, before Abbie clears her throat and they separate, choosing to walk back to the diner in silence, hands clasped together in order sell their cover--or before they are both afraid that the other will dissipate like smoke the moment they let go. Once inside, they both plaster their polite smiles on as they approach Polly.

“Alright, I talked to Jessica and she’s more than willing to set you up with some work here. She said you can come in tomorrow morning and she’ll show you how they clean here and how to work the coffee maker,” Polly smiles at Abbie before taking in Logan, almost as dazzled as his faux-wife. “And you must be the husband! Oh, sweetie, you didn’t even mention that he looks even better up close.”

Abbie can’t help the loud laugh she lets out at Polly’s blunt choice of words, Logan shifting beside her slightly. Abbie leans into him a little, brushing her hand against his side ever so slightly, mirth in her eyes, “You know, I hardly even notice anymore.”

“Oh, you two are just trouble!” Polly chortles as Logan raises an eyebrow at his faux-wife in faux-exasperation.

“My Abbie told me about the offer you made us,” Logan changes the topic (and Abbie’s chest tightens at hearing him call her his Abbie). “It’s such a kind offer, I don’t know if we can accept.”

“Oh, of course you can,” Polly grabs her things and crosses her arms. “You’re two kids in need, and I’m a lonely old woman. And, if it is possible, I’ve got a few handyman jobs that I haven’t gotten around to over the years.”

“I think I can help with that,” Logan smiles, sliding an arm around Abbie’s waist. He knows it isn’t necessary, but he’ll milk this cow for all it’s got while they’re stuck in this town. If Abbie wants to play pretend at husband and wife, then he’ll give her exactly what she wants, even if it isn’t explicitly what she asked for. The word ‘pretend’ is the only thing preventing him from a beating from his conscience--and since when did his conscience have a British accent?

The ride to Polly’s house seems to take far longer than Logan hopes, and Polly won’t quit asking them questions. Much to Logan’s surprise, Abbie doesn’t miss a beat, making up reasonable answers on the fly. He supposes you get good at making up truths after living new lives every few years. Logan can’t share the sentiment; he’s old, but he never stayed anywhere love enough to make up a story, really.

“Are you considering having kids?” Polly pulls into a driveway. “So many young folk can’t even imagine kids before their late thirties these days.”

Logan looks teasingly to the blonde in the back seat, noting her glare and the blush covering her cheeks. Out of all the questions Polly keeps throwing at them, Abbie doesn’t have a well-planned answer for that one.

“Unfortunately, I can’t have children,” she ignores Logan wiggling his eyebrows at her suggestively as they grab their bags to take inside. “But I suppose adoption isn’t out of the question some day.”

“Oh, adoption is wonderful! So many children need loving homes,” Polly gushes while leading them around the house to the guest house in the back. She starts explaining where they can find things and all those sorts of things but Logan isn’t listening anymore.

Abbie says adoption and, for some un-fucking-known reason, all he can think of is Laura. And suddenly, he’s imagining introducing them to each other and it doesn’t make sense because no way in hell is he planning to make his own little nuclear family. But at the same time, all he can see is Laura grinning while talking to Abbie before the older mutant turns to him with a soft smile.

Fuck.

That is the exact opposite of what he should be thinking about--and it shouldn’t put a fucking warm feeling in his stomach!

Fuck!

Abbie goes inside with Polly to help her prepare food while Logan puts their bags in the guesthouse. He takes his time with the folded linens next to the bed, putting them on slowly as he tries to get his mind onto any other fuching topic in the world.

It obviously doesn’t work, because he can’t help himself from asking what won’t leave his mind as soon as Abbie comes back in to tell him that dinner will be ready soon.

“Did you mean what you said about adopting earlier?” Fuck, fuck! He can’t think of any better topic to discuss?

She’s obviously taken aback by the sudden prompting, but she doesn’t shy away as he thought she might, “Uh, well, yes, I suppose… I’ve never thought kids would be in the cards for me, but if circumstances allowed, I always hoped to adopt.”

“Yeah, kids never seemed like something that could work for me either,” Logan half smiles, a little distracted as he thinks about joking with Laura.

“You have kids?” she asks in subtle shock.

“Uh, not like…” he wipes a hand down his face. “It’s a long story, but I sort of have a daughter… there was a company trying to clone mutant DNA and they had some of mine… I don’t even understand it all, but she’s technically mine.”

“How old is she?” Abbie asks softly, noting his agitation.

“She’s eleven,” he huffs. “But I’ve only known her maybe eight months. Her name’s Laura.”

“It means victory and strength,” she grins. “I bet she’s amazing.”

“She amazes me everyday,” he shakes his head.

They don’t speak after that, just making their way back to the house in comfortable silence. During dinner, they make small talk with Polly and Abbie comfortably slips her hand into Logan’s on the table. It’s unnecessary but Logan doesn’t pull away, a little too fond of how the extra weight feels in his palm. 

At first he just felt blatant sexual attraction for the blue-eyed girl beside him, but now, it doesn’t feel the same. It’s heavier--and warmer.

Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hehe... I liked this one. fear not! for I am not done with this yet. It will have an eventual real ending, I'm just in college so finding free time for this fic can be difficult at times--especially since I have several other WIPs. Hopefully I update again soon! See ya then :)


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